DEATH all around―
No fadeless flowers: the curse pervades the
soil―
Yet, victors o’er the dearth, the Barre
ground,
Faith, Hope, and Love, pursue their fruitful
toil.
Faith works with God,
Endures, as seeing Him man cannot see.
Sows, oft in tears, the precious seed abroad,
Foretasting harvest-gladness yet to be.
Hope waits for One
Whose faithfulness, unfathomed, cannot fail
In quiet confidence her task is done,
Her eyes intent on Him within the veil.
Love knows no fear―
Love’s simple purpose ne’er is put to shame―
Love doth the Father worthily revere:
Thou, God, art Love, Love thinks upon Thy
Name,
And now abide
Faith, Hope, and Love―not one alone, but
three―
Each challenged often, often let and tried;
Each more than conqueror, Living Lord
through Thee.